


I'm No Angel, Sherlock

by hedgehog_goulash24



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, smol mycroft, smol sherlock, tiny tiny AU, you won't notice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehog_goulash24/pseuds/hedgehog_goulash24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Of course he's forgotten,' the older brother thinks 'who would want to remember?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm No Angel, Sherlock

All that can be heard in the silent bathroom is the clink as the metal blade is placed on the cool sink. The boy slumps to the floor, looking at his freckled, now blood-covered arms with tears running down his face. He never sobs, he never makes noise, he always makes sure his little brother doesn't know, it's almost become routine. After what feels like forever, he slowly and shakily gets up, dampening a towel and wiping away the extra blood drippling down his long arms like raindrops down a window. He looks at himself in the mirror, tries to fix his auburn hair and remove any signs that he has been crying, because if there's one good thing with his level of intelligence, he knows what the other few people like him (for example his raven-haired younger brother) know what to look for.

 

"Mike? 'You in here?" Mycroft hears the voice coming from the other side of the door, clearing his throat and putting on his most calm voice like someone would mask, he responds.

 

"Yes brother mine, I'll be out in a moment."

 

The 16 year-old hears footsteps moving away from the door, and looks back at himself in the mirror. In his mind, he was still disgusting, still not good enough. Mycroft reaches down and grabs the baggy long-sleeved jumper and long pants he brought into the bathroom, putting them on weakly, before walking out the door, the mask he constantly wore slipping right back into place effortlessly.

 

"Why are you wearing that Mike? It's so hot outside!" Sherlock asks, clueless.

 

Mycroft just shrugs, and soon, with his small attention span, the young boy dismisses it.

 

"Can mummy come too?"

 

"I think mummy's busy brother, maybe another time." Yeah, busy locked away in her room drinking her-self to death.

 

Soon the two head off, Sherlock running ahead eagerly, pirate hat in hand and Redbeard pulling him along. The young boy loved to go out and play pirates, especially with his brother. Mycroft walks close behind him, making sure he is safe, and he can't help but smile at the raven haired boy's infectious happiness. Time flies, and soon the sky is a rich glowing orange, and they know they better get back for dinner (as usual, Mycroft cooks). The brothers soon arrive back, Sherlock walks by his older sibling's side, too exhausted to run.

 

"What shall I make for dinner? You pick Sherlock." Mycroft calls from the kitchen to his brother who is watching some quiz show and groaning in frustration when the 'stupid' contestants get the answers wrong.

 

"Hmm… Ice-Cream!" Sherlock answers with a silly grin on his face.

 

"You can't have ice-cream for dinner, silly! Maybe you can have some after." The orange-haired boy replies, and eventually they agree on something more suitable to have.

 

-

 

Mycroft wipes his mouth, tears forming in his eyes as he flushes the toilet and weakly stands up, stumbling over to the bathroom cupboard and grabbing the small metal blade safely and carefully hidden. More lines are cut into his freckle-dusted skin. Arms, legs and sides are all soon painted with rough red lines that spill scarlet red blood on his pale body. The boy is curled up on the floor of the pristine white bathroom in nothing but a towel, tears spilling from his blue eyes and running unstopped down his face, his thin frame shaking with sobs.

 

Then he hears a gasp coming from the doorway.

 

The older boy whips his head up instantly, and his body is filled with more emotions than he can handle when he sees Sherlock standing in there.

 

"Mike… why are you crying?" The 9 year-old asks, but then he sees the red lines covering his brother's body.

 

Without thinking, and before Mycroft can react, Sherlock rushes towards him, wrapping his arms around the taller boy. Mycroft can't help but lean into his arms, tears still steadily flowing.

 

"Why are you doing this Mike? Why are you hurting yourself like this."

 

"Because some people deserve to be hurt Sherlock… people like me."

 

"But… why would angels deserve to be hurt?"

 

Mycroft laughs weakly and emptily at this, "I'm no angel Sherlock."

 

Sherlock finally takes a proper look at his brother, he sees how his spine is sticking out his back, how his ribs are more than visible, how truly tired and sad he looks behind the mask, everything.

 

"You look after me… you protect me… you make sure I'm well, because you know mummy won't. Isn't that what angels do?"

 

The older brother doesn’t have to even ask how he knows about mother, he knows how smart Sherlock is, and he knew he would figure it out eventually. Sherlock once again hugs his brother, crying himself now. They stay like that for a while, Sherlock comforting his older brother as eventually the red-dipped blade slips gently from his hand onto the floor as he relaxes. Eventually the younger boy speaks

 

"Promise me… promise me you'll stop this… please, I love you Mike"

 

"I'll try brother mine, and I love you too."

 

For the first time, Mycroft realises how much damage he's done, not clouded by the words 'ugly', 'fat' and 'not good enough', he sees how thin he's become, he glances in the reflection of the tiles and sees how sunken-in his eyes looks.

 

Maybe it's time to finally stop.

 

-

 

Before he can re-think it, Mycroft flushes the blades down the toilet, watching as the small, shiny, sharp pieces of metal that brought him what he thought was relief spiral away. Sherlock watches every time he eats, and is quite stubborn and refuses to let Mycroft eat nothing, and even though he really has no authority, the orange-haired boy listens. Slowly but surely, the older brother gains some weight, tears form in his eyes as he realises just how far he's come, and hugs his little brother.

 

"Thank you, Sherlock. I love you."

 

And he smiles, a real smile, and it feels like a lifetime since he's last done so.

 

-

 

"How's the diet?"

 

Mycroft has to stop himself from smiling sadly, and instead fakes a glare.

 

'Of course he's forgotten,' The older brother thinks 'who would want to remember?'

-

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a beautiful fanart by sashkash on tumblr which can be viewed here:
> 
> sashkash.tumblr.com/post/31636353083 
> 
> Thanks for reading and don't forget to leave kudos and commment!
> 
> \- Chloe


End file.
